Sweet Ophelia
by scarletvoid
Summary: Werewolf!SI-OC! How can you escape when you aren't even trapped? OC/? On Hiatus while I sort out my other fics.
1. Prologue

My memory of my mother's first reaction to me after my birth was a thunderous, haunting wail. I remember as clear as a cloudless day, her voice screaming: _"What's wrong with her eyes!"_

It was a scream of disgust, and a bone-rattling horror. Her face, clear, aristocratic, was pulled into an expression of loss, pale-blue irises glittering with tears. I could tell that she already knew what was wrong, but was daring someone to speak, to tell her why her child had strange eyes, why her child was-

"Mistress Greengrass," the midwife said with an ignorance of a young girl who had not experienced the prejudice side of this world, "I believe your newborn daughter is a werewolf, the eyes are usually like this for a few months before gaining their natural color-"

My new mother jerked, flinging me towards the end of the bed. I hit the covers with a thump, dizzy. I remember looking up at her, to see her posture was tight, eyes wild. She opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Get it away! I DON'T WANT IT! _GET THE BEAST AWAY FROM ME THIS INSTANT-_ " She looked down at me in all my baby glory, with my eyes watering from the loud noise and a wail on my tongue, then her expression crumpled and she dissolved into tears.

The midwife stood still, expression slack and her jaw hanging open. A nurse a curtain over picked me up and threw a glare at the midwife before striding towards the door. I watched the scene through blurry eyes over the nurse's shoulder.

"Wait! Madam Lucretia, stop please," Cried the midwife, "Mistress - the baby! What am I to do with her? What is her name? Please, Mistress Greengrass!"

The nurse holding me, Madam Lucretia, stopped short and watched as my mother gathered herself, and voice shaking, said, "Leave it with my blood-traitor brother. Have _him_ name it."

The midwife's hopeful expression morphed to anguish, and she nodded her head silently, striding towards us and taking me from Madam Lucretia. She cast one last look at the prejudiced woman behind her, shook her head and exited the room. I watched my mother, face to the window, brown hair disarrayed, with tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping from her chin.

The door closed before my eyes.


	2. Chapter One

In my last life, I'd been an author. I was not a bestselling author, nor did I claim to be a good one, but there was no denying the ideas in my head were gold. However, I was not an author who just would sit down and think up a strange land with strange creatures. My methods of creating my stories and finding my inspiration were different. All of my ideas stemmed from something that had happened in my life - though their happenings changed drastically until it became something familiar though not recognisable.

And for those actions, it is no wonder about why all of my novels were either about running away or escaping from something.

As a child, the idea of growing up - becoming an adult was something scary. I was always a sheltered child, smothered by the love of family and leaving to start my own life and carry my own responsibilities had always been a nightmare to me. At home, everything was relaxed, loving - pure, and out in the world things like murder, rape and manipulation happen all the time. As a teenager, it felt like every birthday was a step closer to confronting a monster.

So, in some way, I was relieved to be a child again. That did not mean I was happy, though. Patience is something I'd not been known for. I was a very active woman in my last life and laying in my crib in a bleach white room made me both agitated and defeated.

The midwife who had helped my new mother through labour was kind to me, but that did not help my mood. The following hours felt more like days as I watched her do paperwork from a crib, the blandness of the room only making me feel more alone. The knowledge I'd been reborn made me feel detached, and no matter how hard I tried to pull myself together it was as if I am grasping at air, my thoughts scattered beneath my fingers. It did not even occur to me that I had no memory of my death.

And so, sitting detached I watched as the midwife sealed a letter, whistled and a brown-feathered, wide-eyed owl dove in though the open window next to her desk with a deafening screech and landed on the coat hanger, tearing through a strange looking brown overcoat with sharp claws.

"Now, now," began the midwife disapprovingly, "If you screech so loudly it will affect the child's ears." She reached out, letter in hand, and the owl met her halfway, jutting out a taloned foot. The midwife tied the letter around it with a piece of string. "To Lord Greengrass, please, Agatha."

The owl screeched again, making my ears ache, and took off out the window. Half of my mind wondered, who uses an owl to deliver _mail_? The other half wondered, who names an owl _Agatha_? I couldn't decide which was the reasonable half.

Just as my mind functioned the strange owl-post system, the name Greengrass and finally the fact that my mother called me a werewolf, the door to the office opened and Madam Lucretia strode in with elegance, face stern.

The midwife got to her feet, eyes lowered to the floor. "Madam Lucretia," she said in greeting, shame coating her voice.

"Mrs. Cresswell, I am not angry with you." Madam Lucretia began. "I believe you learned a lesson out there today. I know you have been sheltered from people like this but that does not mean they are not out there and we do not treat them. Not every pure-blood is as open minded as you, my dear."

"But Madam-" Mrs. Cresswell said, but turned away and ignored them. I'd heard enough.

There was no denying it now. Everything fit. Either babies are being reincarnated all the time and everyone decided to do a very elaborate joke or I'm in the world of the Harry Potter series.

But then there was a flash to the right, and turning to watch Madam Lucretia pointing a thin, smooth piece of wood at a quill which raises into the air before my very eyes and begins to write so quickly that there is nothing but a blur and the rustling of parchment. If I had any doubts before, they were long gone now.

"Her birth certificate is being written as we speak," Madam Lucretia said with a tone of utter finality, "And the guardians of the child will be the Lord and Lady Greengrass. We do not know the father, Mrs. Cresswell, and we have no hope of finding him. Mistress Greengrass clearly has no interest in telling anyone the father's name. We are healers, not an agency which locates estranged family members, Mrs. Cresswell."

Clearly, I had missed a lot of the conversation. Mrs. Cresswell deflated slowly - like a loose balloon - and hung her head. "Yes, Madam," she said.

"Lord and Lady Greengrass will be arriving shortly through floo to collect her. Ensure that they give us her name so we may write it on the certificate. Do not forget to give them a copy."

"Yes, Madam," Mrs. Cresswell said again, defeated. Madam Lucretia gave her a sharp, regal look and glided out of the room like a swan floating on the calmest of water.

As soon as the door closed, Mrs. Cresswell was up, pacing with a hand rubbing her flushed forehead and the other gripping the unfinished birth certificate tightly. She peered down at the paper, as if making a very serious decision. But then, she stopped and almost eerily, turned to stare right at me.

I shifted uneasily, catching the amber glow of my eyes in the reflection of the window behind her. I was then reminded of how werewolves were treated in the world of the Harry Potter series, and my breath cut short.

And then I met Mrs. Cresswell's eyes again, and her intense stare faded as her eyes shut tight, expression looking pained. "If I do this..." She trailed off, opening her eyes to stare down at the certificate in her hand, but then she took a glance at me again and her eyes became determined.

"I'll make sure you have a good future, child," she said, voice shaking. A sense of foreboding overcame me as she sat at the desk again, grasping the quill that still hung in mid-air absentmindedly and began to fill my certificate once more.

There was a part of me that wondered what she meant. I did not dwell on it.

I found myself staring up at the white ceiling. No thoughts ran through my mind, and for a few minutes, there was no panic. There was only a calm acceptance. An understanding. My mother is a witch. I am a werewolf. I am a Greengrass.

Ten minutes later, there was a green flare from the fireplace, so startling I nearly jumped higher than the bars of my crib.

Two people stepped out from it, a man and a lady whom held his elbow. They were a striking pair. The man looked to be in his mid thirties, with short mahogany hair and pale blue eyes - the eyes of the woman whom had given me life just this morning. But his eyes were warmer, kinder, had much more depth and life to them while my mother's eyes had been colder, more reserved and almost scared. He had laughter lines around his eyes and there were slight wrinkles around his mouth, indicating he was someone who laughed and smiled a lot. A little bit of hope welled within me at the sight.

The woman looked to be in her early thirties, with hair like threaded gold. Her eyes were hazel, bright and lovely and kind. She had perfectly shaped eyebrows, her skin was flawless and her smile illuminating. She reminded me of the sun, warm and dazzling and brilliant. They both wore lavish robes, much more beautiful than what the robes had looked like in the Harry Potter movies I'd watched.

"We apologise for our tardiness," the woman said in an airy, light voice. "We were looking through name books. We did not want to give our niece a horrible name in our haste."

"There is no need to apologise. Your niece has been a wonder. She hasn't cried or wailed - she has been the most easy baby I'd had to take care of so far." Mrs. Cresswell assured with a smile. "You've decided on a name for her, then?"

"We have a few options," It was the man who spoke this time, and his voice was smooth and warm and sugary, like melted chocolate. "However, we'd like to see her first. It'd be easier to put a name to a face."

"Completely understandable," Mrs. Cresswell agreed, and swooped towards me, picking me up and resting me in her arms, my head in the crook of her elbow. It was soft, but I felt uneasy only relying on someone else whom could easily drop me to the ground and cause my new brain some damage. I'd grown very used to standing on my own two feet.

Their gazes fell on me, and I felt almost hypnotized as I took in their reactions silently. The woman, my new aunt, gasped and reached for my face, caressing my cheek, her fingers softer than even feathers. "What a beautiful little baby you are!" She crooned. "Look at those beautiful amber eyes! Oh, how could someone ever find _you_ dangerous?" I tried not to preen like a peacock under her admiration.

I met my uncle's eyes, and took in the breathtaking smile lightening his face. "Wow," he murmured. It wasn't much, but it warmed my heart for some reason.

Mrs. Cresswell transferred me into my aunt's arms at her command and the scent of lavender and honey hit me, filling my nose sweetly. The tips of her golden hair brushed my face, and I felt my uncontrollable baby arms seize it. A giggle escaped her lips.

"I think she looks like a Lucille, don't you think so Desmond?" My aunt turned her attention towards my uncle with an excited smile. He nodded thoughtfully. She continued, "And what of her middle name? I don't think the ones we are to pick from are right. How about that other first name as the middle name instead? Lucille Ophelia?"

"Lucille Ophelia Greengrass," Desmond, my uncle said, as if testing the name on his tongue. "It sounds like a name worthy of this beauty." He smiled down at me once again and I felt as if someone was showering me with liquid gold because _how can his smile be so rich and caring?_

"It's settled, then?" At my relative's nod, Mrs. Cresswell clapped her hands happily. "Brilliant! I'll get her information down and spell you a copy right away." She did so within seconds and handed the certificate to my uncle. "I have also included a book which I am required to give every werewolf's parents or guardians, but the book is very biased against them and it would be best to find an alternative. In the bag is the formula for the milk."

"Thank you so much," said my aunt sincerely. "We best get going. We had to leave Daphne with the house elves and I don't like leaving them alone."

"You're welcome. Thank you for coming for her! Goodbye Lucille." She waved her fingers at me and only turned after we did.

I watched over the shoulder of one of my new guardians - my aunt - as the brown-feathered owl flew in once again shrieking and landing on the coat-hanger, tearing into what I now realize are robes. Mrs. Cresswell reached out with a slightly shaky hand and stroked Agatha's feathers. I could not see her expression.

And as we disappeared through the green flames, I caught something on the birth certificate that faced towards me in my uncle's hand. Under my name, right next to race, was two words that held much significance.

Race: _Human_ witch.

There was no mention of werewolves on my birth certificate.

My sight erupted into green.


End file.
